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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840716">Freeform</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmaverick/pseuds/mysticmaverick'>mysticmaverick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Broadcasting, Chatting &amp; Messaging, Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, Friendship, Gen, Multi, One-Way Communication, Opinions, Questions, Radio, Slice of Life, random thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:54:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmaverick/pseuds/mysticmaverick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Port of Soune buzzed with the talks of the new radio presenter in town: the mystical Maverick. As she shook the conservative customs of the small, staling town with her freeform segments, her inexperienced eloquence unknowingly led a young man to self-discovery.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. First Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! It's mysticmaverick. If you manage to stumble on this fic, I'd like to say thank you for doing so. It's my first time posting something I've written for the world to see in a long time, and I don't know if I could handle the pressure.</p>
<p>I initially wanted to swap the characters with characters from Hetalia, but thought better of it. I didn't know if it would still make sense if I do. Rest assured, though, I WILL be posting fanfics in the future. This is just a way for me to hone and develop my writing skills. I hope you enjoy, and feedback would be greatly appreciated!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The radio crackles to life as a young and deft hand turned the knob on a reasonable volume. Static prickles through the speakers at its startup. <em>Great, it's annoying noise. I wonder who adjusted the blasted thing this time.</em> The person then tunes to a station, the peppy beat of Intentions spilling out signaling that he adjusted correctly.</p><p>He was alerted of a sudden change in the radio log that day, and he could only wish for a minor inconvenience in the station's part. After all, he could never shake his need for his after-work eustress from his overly active and annoying students. Much deserved relaxation is due. Where else than to tune in to his favourite segment and listen to the soft croons of radio host Blue-eyes? That man never fails to calm his nerves.</p><p>After the hook, the song muted in the background to make way for the disc jockey. The host cleared their throat. </p><p>Silence. </p><p>That's odd. Will it be another dead air today? Blue-eyes by now would usually belt out his signature: <em>Ladies and gentlemen, a good evening to you all; I'm your host Blue-eyes and this is Night and Day--</em></p><p>
  <em>"Hello, and welcome back to 90.7 A-FM. I'm your new and blued radio host DJ  Maverick. A pleasure being in your service. I'd like to thank this station for giving me an opportunity to grace you all with my personality."</em>
</p><p>Is this a joke?</p><p>
  <em>"I'm just pulling your leg, of course. I really am honoured to be able to work in this very station. However, I'm sad to announce that DJ Blue-eyes has left the show indefinitely."</em>
</p><p>The listener's brow raised as he regarded the new voice speaking through the small device. A woman. His hand shifted to tug the Panasonic RF-562D closer. Adjusting his back more in his plush leather club, his hand squeezed the foam in mild interest. Surprise, even. <em>Where did Blue-eyes go? And what's with the new blood? Such a voice does not suit escaping through this antiquated device, but this rather piques my interest.</em></p><p>(Never mind that he's probably as old as this woman. He liked to think that he was older, more mature for his age.)</p><p>The voice continues on her introduction, with the man carefully listening to the lilts in her voice. All the words she uttered slowly garbled until he could only hear her talking patterns. The strange edge that seeps out through her speech. A clear, confident, yet melodic sound. He decided that the host wasn't a native, and his lips tugged on a small smile as she continued on with her spiel.</p><p>
  <em>"--and people often say 'but Mave, AM is for talking and FM is for music'. To which I reply: that is absolute bollocks. They're both modulations, and they stand for the way you broadcast signals. Amplitude Modulation. Frequency Modulation. Do you understand? I'm no idiot, my lovely listeners; there's a reason why each exist on their own right. I have a degree to prove I know my shit. You better believe it."</em>
</p><p>The man lightly snorted. Amusement slowly began to build from the pit of his belly as he thought how quick-tempered this woman is in person. Whether she is or not, her persona proved to be quite headstrong. Oh, he hoped she gets her own broadcast. <em>Imagine all the things she could say.</em></p><p>
  <em>"You can now Google the difference because I'm not your teacher at all. I'm a radio host. And this radio host... has exhausted all her minutes. Yikes."</em>
</p><p>Yes, she's proving to be quite the entertainer. How low can his standards go? Or was it that he enjoys dry, snarky humour?</p><p>
  <em>"Sadly, I have to go. It is now 10 o'clock in the evening. In the meantime, here is a playlist of Spotify's Global Top 200, live from A-FM radio station. I'm Maverick, bidding you all good night."</em>
</p><p><em>Blinding Lights</em> by the Weeknd faded in, erasing all auditory evidences of fresh blood running the program. A small ten-minute slot to introduce herself. That was all it took for her to get under his good graces. <em>Great.</em></p><p>He was going to miss the booming, yet gravelly tone the previous radio host had. Blue-eyes was the dream. The sound that reminded him of lit cigars and sips of fiery scotch whisky burning his tongue and coursing through this veins. Secondhand smoke and old money laughing along smooth-sailing sax. It was like hearing the soul of Sinatra manifesting within the very breath he exhaled. And yet...</p><p>His phone chimed. The man took it out from his pocket, quick to see his best friend blowing his notifications up.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Louis sighed; in this town; any media personality is considered a celebrity. Blue-eyes is the pride and joy of Port Soune. He was there since the time he was a gangling excuse of a man, finding himself within the jungles of high school. His sensuous convictions of love, art and home washed out the jeers and taunts of his peers. Like salve, Blue-eyes picked him up and soothed his wounds. He healed him to the man he is today. Surely, his position as a book-loving, romantic-seeking, high school lecturer at 23 has to come from somewhere, right?</p><p>Right.</p><p>The radio host's abrupt departure from the station felt like a ghosting. Like some sort of unwarranted break-up that he couldn't accept. The thought of Blue-eyes leaving without a goodbye hurts so bad. He... He had wide bearings to his heart. It wasn't like you think it is, but it might as well have been.</p><p>Louis reeled in all the memories of his quarter-past-nine get-together with the personality, replaying those times where Blue-eyes would absentmindedly croon with the music (that he prefers, of course; recent songs could never compare to jazz). Although he couldn't help but echo the new voice within the confines of his head. How could he even start explaining how it sounded? All he knew that it was like magic. He wouldn't mind her climbing up his list of favourable people. Not one bit.</p><p>Hopefully she gets to have her own broadcast soon. Maverick seems like the kind of person you'd enjoy talking for hours with.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I posted this on Wattpad first... but I feel like this is where this fic belongs. I can't explain it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite her obvious inexperience, Maverick soon became the talk of the town.</p><p>While that was well and all, it really wasn't: it wasn't the same praise Sinatra had received running his broadcast. His hunch was right. Maverick is new blood, threatening to tip the scales of conformity within the small town. At least she made the talks around more interesting.</p><p>What's even more attention-grabbing? No one knew who she is. There were no sightings of newcomers in the area nor are there news of a fresh face walking around the streets of Soune. He had to keep anopen mind about it. No one goes out of their houses past nine in the dark. Every damn day, there would be some talk about the elusive woman. The grocer would say she's a demon-possessed tyrant in the guise of a grilling woman. The minister thinks she has no place in Soune if she kept on spouting profanities. While the local gossipers like her fire, they prefer the swankiness that Blue-eyes could ever permeate. He couldn't fault them. Not one bit.</p><p>Or maybe they were too frustrated that their lovely Sinatra escaped their grasps.</p><p>He really couldn't fault them.</p><p>
  <em>Their dry spell is something else entirely.</em>
</p><p>Speaking of dry spells. The local barber believes she's a siren tempting the men away from their duties. Same goes with the butcher. The deliveryman had the same opinion, entertaining the idea of tailing Maverick after-hours. <em>Seriously, what is wrong with the townsfolk? Is he in some sort of cult?</em></p><p>Victoria would guffaw at his words. Victoria, whom he affectionately calls Vee, is the museum curator. If other people think she's unfitting in her place within Soune, Louis would disagree. Vee definitely brought some colour to his life. She unmistakably loves Maverick, and you can see it at first glance: a form-fitting scarlet single-breasted peplum jacket over her pale blush uniform. She pairs it of with her thick wavy auburn locks and an audacious shade of red from Maybelline she would buy in stock from a city four hours away.</p><p>Is Maverick from the city? Would that explain how <em>different</em> she feels? That would makes sense. <em>If that were the case, wouldn't it taxing for her to commute every single day? What does she even have to gain taking over the station of a town unheard of?</em></p><p>
  <em>Chirp.</em>
</p><p>Louis took out his phone and his eyes blinked.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Louis tapped his fingers on his polished wooden dining table. Deciding to cook for dinner, he proceeded to take out ingredients from the fridge.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <em>"Welcome back, and thank you for tuning in to 90.7 A-FM Radio. I'm DJ Maverick, your host for this evening. It's been a month since I have been delivering fresh music from the Global top 100, with some commentaries in between. It is now 9:15 in the evening."</em>
</p><p>A warm mug of jasmine tea in hand, Louis quickly settled in his club. He daintily sipped the hot liquid, sighing at the feeling of it pooling within his stomach. Head lazily rolling on the headrest, he turned his attention to the radio.</p><p>
  <em>"It is my great pleasure to finally host Freeform. Granted, it's not like Blue-eyes way of killing the time; but I want this program to be more participatory. The management agreed to have you, my lovely listeners, to send me questions through the number marvelously provided by promotions."</em>
</p><p>The listener almost knocked his mug off his lap as he bolted up his chair. Scrambling to reach over his phone on the couch, he then punched the numbers emphasised by the host.</p><p>
  <em>"The number is 202-555-0474. That's 2-0-2-5-5-5-0-4-7-4. We'll be back after a short break to entertain your messages."</em>
</p><p>Groovy pulsating music steamed through the speakers, reminding Louis of psychedelic rainbows and disco lights. <em>Strange, he felt like dancing with the beat.</em> Just like that, he swayed on his seat, freely performing the disco fingers.</p><p>His consciousness was pulled back to reality upon hearing Maverick's voice.</p><p>
  <em>"Welcome back, lovelies. Did you miss me?"</em>
</p><p>Louis almost wanted to say yes. <em>Almost.</em></p><p>
  <em>"I'm just kidding, of course you don't. My girl Doja Cat must have entertained you while I'm gone. Alright! I'm surprised there's more than three messages we've received tonight. You people are curious, huh?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who wouldn't be curious about a strange woman crashing down on everyone's bedtime schedule?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Never mind that. First question! from IHasEyebrows...."</em>
</p><p>The woman let out a hearty laugh. Louis couldn't help but think it sounded like titillating faerie bells.</p><p>
  <em>"You lovelies may think it's not that funny, but I've seen way too many people shaving all their eyebrows and the image makes it even funnier! Back to the program, the question is: What's the weirdest thought you've ever had?"</em>
</p><p>There was a short pause as the host hummed. <em>"Jumping into the personal questions huh? I like it! The weirdest thought I had was the idea of mechaphilia. I mean, can you even imagine getting hot and bothered over cars? I'm not mechaphilic okay, but can you IMAGINE being inside the musky, wood-varnished, oiled leather interiors of the delightful Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith? Or feeling the purr of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera reverberating through every pore in your bones? I don't think you can, but you can try."</em></p><p>It appears as if she is knowledgeable about cars. Rather, she knows car brands. There's obviously a difference. Louis reminded himself not to jump into conclusions and favour the woman more than he already did.</p><p>
  <em>"Next question! From Sophus. Their question is: Any advice on taking law? Oh my. This is a rather heavy question. I'm not exactly qualified to advice you in technical legal stuff, but I can try to motivate you. Really, Law involves a lot of memorisation, familiarisation of the constitution, civics, politics.... While people encourage you to bury your nose in the books, I'd suggest taking breaks from it every now and then. It's sensible to study with a clear head rather than a muddled one. Try to keep your sanity intact too. You're still human after all; you need your Maslow levels fulfilled."</em>
</p><p>By now, Louis is leaning heavily towards the radio, burning the uttered words that seem to float with gentle compassion to memory. He thought that her answer was quite commendable, despite how simple it was delivered. Is there any way for her audience to reveal more of that persona underneath the peppiness?</p><p>
  <em>"There must be a good reason why you want to get into law, and I want to encourage you to work smart. Have faith in yourself, okay? And please, review your damn notes. Moving on..."</em>
</p><p>---</p><p>
  <em>"Thank you for tuning in to Freeform. It is now 10 o'clock in the evening. I'm Maverick, your host, and I bid you all good night."</em>
</p>
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Louis grinned at his best friend. He knew she wanted to ask the host about, let's say, unsavoury topics. Turning off the radio, he then set out for bed, wondering if he could one day ask her a question. If he did, would she provide him the answer he hopes for?
</p>
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